


keeping time

by enamuko



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new transfer student is just about the only thing keeping 15-year-old Edward Nashton from snapping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slow Tear

**Author's Note:**

> I caved. Highschool AUs are my greatest weakness, and once I fell hard for this pairing it was impossible to resist writing one for them. Although I imagine this less as your typical highschool AU, which usually functions as a complete deviation from canon, and more as an alternate interpretation of the characters where the two of them are close to the same age and just so happen to meet during high school rather than later in their lives. I haven't fully figured out the logistics of it, but that's what's so great about Batman; there are so many character interpretations already within the canon that you can pretty much just piece together your own.

"Hey Nashton."

Edward ground his teeth slightly as he picked at a sandwich he didn't really want to eat. There was a heavy arm resting on his shoulder that was making him want to crawl out of his skin and the smell of cheap spray-on cologne was making his nose tingle.

"Afternoon, Kyle." It was the easiest thing in the world to paste on a fake smile, especially because he had no intentions of making it look genuine. Obviously forced smiles always made people look like they were just about to throw up and he was okay with that being the message that came across.  _ You disgust me and just being around you makes me nauseous _  expressed his feelings about this particular cro-magnon of a schoolmate quite well.

"Last night's homework was pretty tough, huh?" There was no subtly there. Kyle was a junior with no motivation, no extra-curriculars, and was generally considered to be on a fast-track to being a dropout. Leaning on people smarter than him was the only way he had even avoided  _ flunking  _ out for so long.

Edward hated him— but then, Edward hated most of his contemporaries.

"Wouldn't know," he replied curtly, shoving his untouched lunch back into his bag and twisting his backpack onto one shoulder. He was hoping it would hit Kyle with an errant swing but it seemed like luck wasn't with him. "I had more important things to be doing."

Kyle's demeanor changed rather quickly when he realized that Edward didn't have what he was looking for. Or at least, was led to  _ believe  _ he didn't have what he was looking for. Not that Edward had outright lied; he always had much better things to be doing than whatever pedestrian homework assignment he was given. Except for the gap of time he spent waiting for the bus, which had been  _ more  _ than enough time to scribble down the geography homework his "peer" was looking for.

_ Take away my first letter, and I still sound the same. Take away my last letter, I still sound the same. Even take away my letter in the middle, I will still sound the same. I am a five letter word. What am I? _

_ Empty. Just like your head, you dolt. _

"Seeya around then, Eddie." Any pretenses of friendliness disappeared entirely. He gritted his teeth again. He hated people being informal with him without his permission. It would have been  _ so perfect  _ if he had been able to work in that riddle— but he liked his bones where they were and fully intact. His intellect may have been large, but his body was small.

Of course, there were ways he could even the playing field. He just wasn't that desperate.

Not yet.

 

* * *

 

  _Honestly, Edward, you have a lot of potential. With a little more effort you could be something really great. It's a shame to see you throwing it all away._

Edward  _ seethed  _ as he paced in the parking lot, hands threaded in his own hair. Who was  _ he _  to tell him he wasn't  _ already  _ great? Just some guidance counselor, someone who had never fulfilled their own dreams and had to take it out on teenagers with self-esteem issues— telling them that what they were already doing wasn't good enough just because they weren't following  _ the rules _ . That was it, he was sure that was it. Maybe he didn't show up most days, sure, but what could a school teach him that he didn't already  _ know _ ? And maybe, maybe he fought a lot— but it wasn't  _ his  _ fault the other students were threatened by him. What was he supposed to do, stand and take it?

The meeting with the new guidance counselor had made him miss his bus, which only compounded his anger. He had better things to be doing— better places to  _ be  _ than this cesspool, only good for keeping him away from home and out of the eye of the local truant officer. Without even thinking he stooped over to grab a sizable rock, jarred loose from one of the space markers by someone who obviously couldn't drive. He rolled it around in his hand, running that conversation with the guidance counselor over in his head again.

_ You could be a real genius if you put some effort into your studies. _

_ I'm already a genius, you bastard. _

The weight of the rock felt good in his hand but it also sent a sort of tingling sensation up his arm. It was like his frustration was collecting in his muscles, just  _ begging  _ for the splintering of bone. With nothing around to  _ hurt _ , though, his body seemed to choose the next best option. He hefted the stone like he was throwing the shot-put with as much force as he could manage.

The sound of smashing glass was oh so satisfying. The sound of a car alarm was rather jarring by comparison. A garishly-painted European car now had a fist-sized hole in its front windshield. Instinctively the sound of anything resembling an alarm made him want to run, but something else kept him rooted there.

"Hey! What the fuck?!" He didn't recognize the guy that came running out of the school his car keys in hand. He might have stuffed his hands in his pockets, hung his head, and walked quickly in the opposite direction. Instead he crossed his arms and leaned in a slightly aggressive way. The other teenager— who looked quite rich now that he got a closer look at him, in all designer fashions— ran straight to his car and peered in through the hole at the rock now sitting on the console between the front seats. He turned to Edward with a scalding glare. "Did  _ you  _ do this?"

"Maybe I did," he said, rolling his shoulders. His stance was pure aggression. Everything about him was screaming  _ fight me, I dare you  _ . It was all just a matter of getting the other person to hit first— that way you had at least  _ some  _ plausible deniability. The rich boy was all too obliging. Even though he didn't look like he had ever had to lift a finger in his life, he was quick to aim a hard right at Edward's face.

Edward ducked under the blow and tackled him to the ground. It might have been a difficult maneuver if his opponent was bigger and stronger than him. As it was, they both went down to the ground, only Edward had the advantage of being prepared. It took him only a brief moment to recover and plow his fist straight into the other teenager's nose. That sickening crunch of bone he had been wanting earlier felt terribly gratifying now. He wanted to revel in it for a moment but he didn't quite get the chance. As soon as he recovered his faculties, his opponent reached up to close his hands around his throat, cutting off his air supply. He faltered for a moment, allowing the other man to pull himself up into a half-sitting position as blood streamed liberally out of his nose.

Edward snarled and pulled his head back, then slammed it forward. The other man cried out as their heads collided, probably shifting his already undoubtedly broken nose. It dazed him enough to let go and fall to the ground clutching his face, still bleeding.

Edward heard the sound of one of the court doors a dozen yards away opening and decided he'd had enough excitement for one day. He jumped to his feet and pulled the hood of his sweater over his head, walking away quickly and quietly toward the next bus stop a block away. He could hear confused exclamations as he shoved his hands in his pockets, but no one came after him.

Maybe after what he had been forced to put up with, it was going to be his lucky day.

 

* * *

 

The night passed uneventfully. He was lucky enough to arrive home after his father had already left, which meant he didn't have to answer any questions and could wash the blood off of his hands in peace. Dinner was reheated (and somewhat freezer burned) leftovers that a neighbor had been “kind” enough to drop off several months ago. He spent most of the evening, well into the night and morning hours, curled up like a mischievous cat in front of his computer. It wasn't until he could hear his father coming in the front door that he went to bed, if only for the sake of avoiding what would be an unpleasant screaming match at best and could potentially be much worse.

The next morning he didn't even bother attempting to get up in time for his first class, or even his second. His father would either be gone to work or sleeping even later than he was; none of his teachers or classmates would question his absence. The only thing that even compelled him to go at all was the fact that someone,  _ eventually _ , would notice that he was gone. His father coming home for lunch or receiving a call from the school would almost certainly destroy the strange, delicate balance he struggled to maintain, the one that made him seem like a characteristically lazy teenage boy at worst. No one ever contested the idea of a teenager who just didn't want to go to school; when he tried to argue that he was simply too  _ smart _  for school, however, that was when people became irate. They just couldn't accept the idea that someone had beaten their system.

Edward could almost understand that. He also hated to lose.

The city bus dropped him off across the street from his school. He had tried taking the school bus in his first year, but it simply hadn't worked out— trying to keep Edward running on someone else's schedule rarely did. He crossed the street without waiting for the light to change and wandered around the south parking lot for a bit before heading inside. Idly he noticed that they hadn't bothered to wash the blood off of the sidewalk.

Second period wasn't over yet and lunch hadn't started, leaving the halls eerily empty. Edward wasn't in any rush; he might had taken the bus a few stops further and gotten himself a coffee if he had enough change that he could scrape together, but he was low on cash at the moment. He walked through the halls without much care about potentially being caught.

He dropped his backpack roughly on the ground in front of his locker and idly spun the code into his lock. He hated combination locks; far too unreliable. Not that he kept anything worth protecting in something like a  _ school locker _ . He had safer places to store his things. He shoved several textbooks into the back, replaced them with several others mostly for show, and locked it again.

He turned to walk away and find some place quiet to hide from suspicious teachers and eat his sparse lunch before the rest of the student mass had a chance to annoy him. In doing so he nearly bumped directly into someone, a man fiddling with the normally unoccupied locker next to his own.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Although this stranger had been less than half a foot away, he hadn't had any idea he was standing there. He hadn't heard him approach, hadn't felt his presence at all— it was all very disconcerting and only the sudden momentary shock that made his heart beat a fraction harder made him disregard the way it made his skin crawl.

Cold blue eyes looked down at him, both literally and figuratively. There was a distinct look of cool indifference and condescension on this stranger's face that brought out his best sneer. It was a poor first impression that left Edward thinking  _ where do you get off _ ?

Normally he would have walked away, maybe shouldering his way by in spite of the fact that the halls were completely empty just to emphasize how little regard he had for this stranger and his judgments. He was on the verge of doing that, but his brain finally elected to register just  _ how intensely _  this person was staring at him. Even as he managed to get his locker open he didn't look away; he barely even  _ blinked _ .

Something in his hard stare made him feel very small, but at the same time he realized that no one had ever looked him in the eye for that long.

“Something on my face?” He wanted that to sound venomous but,  _dammit_ , he sounded genuinely unsure and he wanted to smack himself for it. It provoked a small smile on a face that looked like smiling was completely foreign to it.

“My apologies. Sometimes I don't realize when I've been staring.” He certainly didn't  _sound_  sorry, but Edward would just look petty if he brought that up. Instead he looked the stranger over, scrutinizing him just as closely as he himself had been scrutinized— with less eye contact.

He was taller than Edward, thin, gangly. Cheekbones, wrists, knuckles— all of his bones seemed to jut out at hard angles, giving him a particularly  _ sharp  _ appearance. His clothes were rather ragged and fit poorly; they might have been nice once and might have stayed that way if they had been tended to, but Edward could see the way his shirt was worn threadbare at the elbows; pure and simple neglect. Somehow he managed to be even paler than Edward himself, a fact that was only further emphasized by his excessive freckles and a dark mop of unkempt hair that hung in his eyes.

Edward prided himself in knowing every student in his school, even if all he knew about them was a face and a name. As such he recognized a new student when he saw one. Already this new guy had caught him off guard too many times; that was  _ his _  job and it infuriated him. In an attempt to turn the tables he took a half-step closer, clearly entering this stranger's personal space. It didn't seem to offset him in the slightest.

“What's your name?” It was an innocent enough question but posed with  _intent_ , barely disguised in the animosity he was showing.

“Jonathan.” He didn't react to that animosity except perhaps through amusement. “Crane.” He added that almost as an afterthought. Edward got the distinct feeling he was being toyed with, which was something he had never felt before and was certain he did not like at all. He could feel color rising into his face and he struggled to keep his composure instead of flying off the handle like he might normally do, because it was really the only way he could have any power over this situation anymore.

He tried his best to look disinterested instead of pissed off, sniffing and turning away. It might have even worked if he hadn't still been able to feel those those  _ eyes _  on him. It felt like this guy was trying to bore through him with his eyes, as if he could see right through him if he stared at him hard enough. It was..  _ disconcerting _ , and suddenly all of that pent-up anger seemed to drain away in favor of discomfort. He felt slightly nauseous and, embarrassingly, his face was starting to go red under the intensity of this strange man's gaze.

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” he murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets and shouldering his way past his strange new locker neighbor. It was only once he was down the hall and around the corner that he realized how absolutely lame that had sounded. Accompanied by a sudden flood of self-loathing he shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, walking away from his locker bank as fast as he could without looking like he was trying to run.

Tomorrow he would get his locker changed. There was no need for him to put up with something like that every day. He would get his locker changed, and then he would find out just who this asshole was. Just as soon as he'd thought luck was going his way for once, he'd been stuck with a creepy locker neighbor who just wouldn't stop  _ staring _  at him.

Looking at him like he was sizing him up to make a meal out of him.

Looking at him more intently than any human being had ever looked at him.


	2. There's a New Sheriff in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new kid is, to say the least, unsettling. Edward fails to cope well with things that unsettle him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so it's been what, two years since I updated this? I genuinely forgot it existed until I found the first couple pages of this, and now I've decided to work on it again. I wouldn't really do any breath holding about chapters coming in a speedy fashion, though. At least this chapter is like twice as long as the first one.

 

 Edward _liked_ computer science, programming in particular. It used familiar formulas to create something entirely new, based entirely on the skill of the person between the chair and the keyboard. Everyone _could_ learn to do it, but only certain people could actually be _good_ at it.

Edward was good at it. And Edward liked anything he was good at, because it gave him ample opportunity to show _other_ people he was good at it. He was good at riddles and puzzles and games, but people weren't impressed by those things. Computer programming— people were impressed by that.

Computer science was the only class Edward regularly attended. Not because he thought he could really learn anything from it— the teacher was a bored old man who hadn't bothered to learn anything about computers since the early 90s and who mostly regurgitated the contents of 'Computer Programming for Dummies' manuals at disinterested students. No, he attended it because every A+ or received award was another accomplishment for his portfolio. Schools always looked at that sort of thing, after all. As if it wasn't enough just to be a genius— you had to fill out an arbitrary checklist to _prove_ it.

And if those programs he submitted for his projects and his awards had incorporated back doors, well. The folks giving him those A+ grades and those awards didn't need to know that.

He leaned against the wall outside of the computer lab, thumb idly flicking through the news channel on his phone. The class before his was still in there, and he didn't feel like even _pretending_ that he had gone to any of his other classes. Even if he were the sort of person who cared about classes, the encounter he'd had with that creepy guy at the lockers earlier had shaken him enough that he wouldn't have been able to concentrate in the slightest. Instead he'd spent the time in the library, casually downgrading a particularly irksome jock or two to a failing grade. He was sure that would make next week's football game a little more interesting, even if he wouldn't be there to see it.

Edward stood back with his shoulders hunched as the other class filed out, keeping folded over his phone and trying not to make eye contact or scowl too hard at anyone who passed by. Normally he wouldn't care. Normally he would be happy enough to show the rest of the student body how little he thought of them. But after the parking lot incident the other day and the creepy run-in with the new student, for once in his life Edward _wanted_ to just glide under the radar.

Just for the day. Just until he could remind himself _why_ he was better than all of them, and _why_ he didn't have any reason to be nervous around them.

When the last student left the computer lab, Edward slipped inside and dropped himself into his favorite spot, the console at the far back of the room that the teacher couldn't see from his desk and never bothered getting up to check. He ignored the odd look he was getting from the teacher who'd booked the lab for the prior period, logging into his own secure network account— he didn't trust the school assigned one any farther than he could throw the sysadmin who had made it— and pulling up his latest project. It had nothing to do with his assigned class work, but as long as he got his assignments in on time the teacher didn't care. Most of the things that old coot assigned were things he could whip up in the fifteen minutes it took his dinner to reheat, anyway. He could think of a lot of better ways to use his time.

Absorbed as he was in rolling out line after line of code, Edward only noticed the rest of his class filing in when the teacher sat at his desk and started obnoxiously shuffling papers around. He licked his lips, crinkled his nose, and did his best to ignore it. People came into the room, filling the desk spaces but always leaving the only computer next to him empty. No one ever sat next to him. He wasn't insulted by that; he liked it that way. He wasn't looking to make friends with any of the idiots in his class, in his entire school in fact, and he got along best with them when they simply stayed out of his way.

Edward slipped easily back into the trance of coding as the class went about its set-up— until he heard the scrape of the chair being pulled out next to him. His head snapped up, though his attention wasn't immediately drawn to the chair itself. First, he looked around the room to see if there were any free computers that didn't have the ever present 'Out of Order' or 'Not Working' signs taped to them. Maybe it was just a matter of unfortunate circumstance. But no— there were at least a few open computers, and in better spots, closer to the windows or the door or the places his classmates usually liked to snap up right away.

Part of him already knew who was going to be sitting next to him when he turned, but he wanted that to just be paranoia. Nevertheless, the bottom of his stomach dropped out when he saw that ratty sweater with the worn-down elbows.

“Fancy seeing you here.” A smirk on that gaunt face only made him want to punch him in the teeth. It didn't seem friendly, or charming, or anything a smile _should_ be— it was unsettling and made him feel like this guy wanted to strap him to a table and dissect him.

He wanted to scream, but he was _better_ than that. Better than making a scene in front of everyone. That was far from the kind of attention and recognition he wanted, for everyone to think he was crazy. He knew some of them thought it already, and it made his blood boil.

“Jonathan, right?” There was a certain pride in the way his voice sounded so very bored and unaffected, and the way he kept his eyes mostly on his screen, watching the eerie newcomer out of the corner of his eye. “Are you stalking me or something?”

“I don't suppose you get many new students in your class this late in the year,” he replied, sounding amused and smug. Edward flushed from embarrassment and anger as he realized that comment made him sound like such an idiot. A paranoid idiot, at that. “I thought that perhaps since you and I are locker neighbors, you might be generous enough to catch me up on the current curriculum. My precious school was hardly known for its... technological expertise.”

The way Jonathan spoke made Edward crinkle his nose. It was overwhelmingly formal, like he was trying to overcompensate for something— he sounded more like he was writing an essay or making a formal presentation than simply talking in an informal setting like to a classmate.

“Why don't you just ask the teacher?” he asked with an unconcealed sneer, glaring at him and making every other indication of disliking him in hopes he would get the hint and _leave him alone_. The comment, though, just made Jonathan laugh.

“Because I'd like to learn from someone who isn't a complete moron,” he replied, leaning forward and drumming his fingers against the desk. The teacher was drawling at the front of the room, but either didn't notice or didn't care that the two of them were talking at a regular volume at the back. “From what I just saw, you seem to know what you're doing.”

Edward blinked as he processed the compliment, before clearing his throat and looking back to his screen. “Programming is a language. It's just a matter of learning the words. Everyone can learn it.” A smirk flitted across his face. “Not everyone can be _good_ at it, though.”

“I take it _you're_ good at it.”

Normally when people threw compliments at him, it meant one of two things. The first was that they were smart enough to actually _appreciate_ his genius; that was rare. The second was that, much like Kyle, they were simply trying to butter him up to get something they wanted from him. In his experience, that was the much more likely option.

He looked over the strange new student with a skeptical eye. It was obvious what he wanted; for someone to help him with his programming work. At the same time, there was something odd about the way he phrased it. He didn’t just throw random praise at him; he almost sounded like he was waiting for Edward to prove it himself.

“Of _course_ I’m good at it. Too good to still be here working on these asinine assignments handed out by a borderline narcoleptic.” He turned back to his computer, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he continued to work on his personal project. No reason to let this creepy weirdo keep him from getting something useful done; he could work and talk at the same time. “But the school board is too simple and backwards to have an opt out exam for computer science, so here I am.”

“I’m betting no advanced placement exam, either. And yet you’re in a class above your grade level. Curious.” Jonathan leaned back in his chair, and Edward turned to stare at him like he’d grown an extra head.

“How did you—?”

“Your school books.” He gestured towards him with a vague wave of his hand. “The textbooks you were taking out of your locker earlier are all for eleventh grade classes. Either you’ve failed math, biology, and history, or you’re in a twelfth-grade computer science class a year early.”

“Observant. And creepy.” Edward narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Jonathan, though he looked at him only out of the corner of his eye.

“If that’s how you’d like to think of it.” Jonathan shrugged. “I just find it worthwhile to know things about my classmates. It can be…helpful.”

Well, Edward certainly couldn’t argue with that, as much as he wanted to. He was pretty much the same. You never knew when having _information_ about the people you were around most of the time would be helpful. He couldn’t say he much cared for being on the other end of things, though. He could still feel those _eyes_ on him, even when he was very firmly looking anywhere other than directly at his newest classmate.

“If you’re trying to suck up to me, you’re not doing a very good job.” Edward’s fingers flew over the keys, but he wasn’t even watching the screen to see what he was typing. The brightness on the old piece of shit monitors the school gave them was low enough that he could see Jonathan’s reflection, at least a little bit. He expected to see him staring at him in that same creepy manner he had earlier, but instead he seemed to have lost all interest. He was leaning back in his seat, ignoring his computer and flipping through a worn book, the old hardcover kind with its own built in ribbon bookmark.

Edward wasn’t sure whether to be confused, angry, relieved, or some awkward mix of the three; he knew he shouldn’t want this creep to be _staring_ at him, obviously, but it seemed like he was doing nothing but purposely send him mixed signals to frustrate the Hell out of him.

“Somehow I can see why you might need help with computer science. It helps if you turn the computer _on_.”

“Oh, I’m just waiting on you to make up your mind. Wouldn’t want to be getting ahead of myself.” He waved his hand idly, casually flipping the page. “So, whenever you’re ready to give me an answer, I’ll be here.”

Edward couldn’t do anything but stare blankly at Jonathan for a few moments. Every time he thought he was starting to get a grip on this new guy he did something even more completely ridiculous, almost as if he was just trying to throw him off again and again.

“And if I _do_ help you, what exactly is in it for me?” It was the only thing he could think to say, and he practically wanted to slap himself for it. It sounded like he was genuinely thinking about it.

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” Jonathan shrugged, continuing to casually flip through his book. “In all honesty, I haven’t had time to figure out what I have to offer you. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to figure out all the details. It’s not as though I’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

_That’s what you think,_ Edward thought, turning his full attention back to his computer. He didn’t say another word to Jonathan for the entire class, and didn’t intend to do so again any time soon; but every so often he could feel the intensity of those _eyes_ on him…

* * *

When the best part of your day had been ruined, where did you go from there? For Edward, the answer was a simple one: the library.

The library was usually empty unless there was some kind of school event or a class was using it for whatever reason. The few students that were there were usually napping or just trying to find a place to quietly skip class; even the librarian could usually be found dozing at his desk. It was never any trouble for Edward to slip in quietly and head straight for the back corner of the room, directly for the computer with the out of order sign taped to it.

Dropping his backpack under the desk, Edward flipped the paper over the back of the monitor and hit the power button on the tower. No one ever questioned an out of order sign, and God forbid the school spend a cent or a couple of minutes to make sure their students had what they needed to learn. But it was the only computer that was completely out of view of the few security cameras the library could afford.

Once the computer had booted up—as slow as ever, of course—Edward pulled up a program of his own design. This Jonathan guy had surprised him once, but that wasn’t going to happen again. In half an hour, he would know everything there was to know about this asshole.

He was right about one thing, though—there was a reason Edward was in a computer science class a year above his grade level. A school that could barely afford computers in the first place didn’t exactly have top of the line computer security. Their student registry wasn’t exactly top of the line either. No one had even questioned him showing up on the class list—if anyone even knew who he was.

Anonymity—his gift, his curse.

That very same student registry opened for him like a working girl’s legs on the night the soldiers came home, ready to spill every dirty little secret a school’s private records could. It didn’t take him long to find Mr. _Jonathan_ —even with the program’s god awful interface, there weren’t many mid-term transfers to their hokey little high school. Being a good couple of hours from the nearest major city didn’t exactly do wonders for their student body.

Jonathan Crane, seventeen years old. Born in some little hick down in Alabama and had a straight A transcript apart from gym. Other than that, his transcript was clean—eerily so. There wasn’t a single sick day, detention notice, or medical record. Just a name, birth certificate, a basic listing of grades, and an emergency contact number. It didn’t even give an address or listing for his previous school.

“What are you trying to hide...?” He wanted to smack the computer monitor in frustration. His best guess was something involving a sealed juvenile record. There weren’t many other reasons for a teenager’s permanent record to look like a redacted government file. He’d come to the library looking for answers, but he’d ended up with nothing but more questions.

If the school records weren’t going to be of any help, maybe the internet would be. He punched Jonathan Crane’s name into every search engine he could think of, hoping to turn up even the slightest trail of breadcrumbs. There was no way someone his age could stay off the internet completely, even if it was just old baby photos on a crazy relative’s Facebook page. Hopefully he could find something damning enough to make this Crane’s life a living Hell—enough to get him out of his school and off creeping someone else out.

After nearly an hour of searching and finding nothing, Edward was beyond frustrated and into the point of furious. There was no way anyone could be _that_ below the grid—it just wasn’t possible! He _had_ to be missing something…

“Excuse me, young man? You’re making quite a racket with all that muttering.” He nearly jumped out of his seat when the ancient librarian approached, tottering forward on her walker. “Please keep it down; there are people trying to get their work and studying done.”

“Yeah—yeah, sorry. I was just leaving.” He quickly hit the power button on the computer and snatched up his bag, pulling his hoodie over his head as he scooted past the old woman and towards the door. He didn’t want anyone to see the way his cheeks were burning from embarrassment. In fact, all he wanted was to get out of there—and figure out what his next step was.

* * *

Where did one go when their only sanctuary had been compromised, and there was an enemy skulking around in the halls? It was a question Edward had never had to answer before. He’d always had the upper hand over his Neanderthal classmates—even when they could throw a punch better than him, he always came out on top. A football player bullying him? What a shame if the school should demand ‘random’ drug testing right before the big game, based on an anonymous tip that one of their players was addicted to amphetamines. An honor roll student considering themselves intellectually superior because of better grades on standardized testing? Too bad someone leaked emails of answer keys from a self-absorbed teacher to the principal.

Jonathan Crane—he didn’t have anything on him. Nothing he could use to intimidate or cajole him, at least not yet. He would find it in time, but the psycho was bound to drive him crazy before that.

With the library out of bounds and home out of the question, Edward needed to find some place to hole up and think. With the change in his pockets he caught the city bus to the shop plaza just a few blocks away and slipped into the coffee shop at the corner.

“Medium light roast and a caramel scone,” he muttered as he slapped down a bill on the counter. The exhausted barista didn’t question the presence of a teenager during school hours and only scowled at him when he snatched up his order without dropping anything in the tip jar.

He found a quiet seat in the back with his hood still pulled up and his backpack tucked carefully away, just in case the truant officer happened to need a caffeine fix that day. He pulled out his laptop and was ready to buckle down and get to work when the shadow of someone standing over him pulled his attention away.

“I was wondering where I would find you.”

It was hard to look intimidating when you were wearing a sweater vest, and Edward couldn’t exactly say the trust fund kid in front of him was pulling it off—especially when his nose was taped up from where Edward had broken it. The two brutes standing behind his friend, though? They were much better at looking intimidating—especially since they seemed to have given up their necks in favor of developing their arm muscles.

“Sorry—do I know you?” Edward tried desperately to play it cool, fighting against the tremor that wanted to work its way into his hands by typing at a furious pace.

“I guess you don’t,” he said with a shrug. “But _I_ know _you_ , and that’s all that matters. And more importantly, my insurance company would really like to know you, you fucking douchebag.”

Edward flinched when he slammed his hands on the table, nearly knocking over his coffee. The barista was hovering as close to them as she could without leaving the counter—clearly she didn’t want to get involved, but it was still a part of her job.

“For future reference, it’s really hard to sound tough when you’re talking about your insurance company.” That was an unfortunate habit; when he got nervous, he tended to get mouthy. In situations bad enough to make him nervous, being mouthy generally only made things so much worse.

“Listen, you mouthy piece of shit—”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’re blocking my seat. If I could just squeeze by…”

The sound of Jonathan’s voice produced rather mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was so mad he could spit—on the other hand, he didn’t really feel like getting beaten up. His thin frame slid easily between the bulky jocks-for-hire and the trust fund kid, and he dropped right into the chair next to Edward like he belonged there. He was even holding his own coffee and everything.

“Look, buddy, we’re kind of in the middle of something,” one of the jocks said, giving Jonathan the stink eye.

“I noticed. In the middle of a coffee shop in broad daylight, no less. A bold move.” The way Jonathan said ‘bold’ translated very easily into ‘stupid’, and even the ‘bold’ would-be-assailants picked up on it easily enough, their dark looks turning on him instead. “Why don’t the three of you head on your way, and I’ll forget I saw you when that employee calls the police?”

The tension was thick enough you could cut it with a knife, but thankfully it was the thugs who backed down first. Even a rich privileged kid with more hair gel than brains was too smart to start a beat down in the middle of the day. They slunk away without another word, though Edward knew it wasn’t the last he was going to hear of them. He would need to figure out some way to take care of that problem…

(It would help, he realized, if he had any idea who the trust fund kid was. He could find out, of course, but it would take some time. Oh, the trouble with getting into fights with people you didn’t know…)

“Don’t think I owe you anything now,” he all but spat at Jonathan, pushing the hood of his sweater back and staring him straight in the face. “I could have handled that on my own.”

“I’m sure. But it can’t hurt to have some backup from time to time, can it?” Jonathan looked so smug and self-satisfied that Edward wanted to spit, sitting there drinking something that smelled like an entire bakery. He hadn’t pegged him as the fancy latte type.

“Look, I have no idea what you want from me, but just leave me alone,” he snapped. After the morning he’d had and being menaced by an Aberzombie, his patience—something that was in short supply to begin with—was at an all time low. “If you really want to learn computer programming, start with learning how to use Google. And if this is about something else entirely like I know it is, just tell me so I can tell you to fuck off.”

“There’s no need to be rude. All you needed to do was ask.” If there was anything more infuriating than Jonathan’s smile, Edward had no idea what it was. “The truth is, I need someone who knows people. Someone who can help me figure out how things work around here. And it didn’t take very long for me to figure out that was you. You’re isolated, but everyone knows who you are. You don’t have any friends, but plenty of enemies, and yet you still get left alone. And bad things tend to happen to people who don’t like you very much. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together wasn’t too difficult after that.”

“It’s just a high school, not a prison.” Though Edward had to admit that the distinction was trivial, most days. “Keep your head down and avoid pissing people off and you’ll be fine.”

“You seem to have trouble taking your own advice.” Jonathan’s eyes followed the path the three would-be assailants had taken. Edward had nothing to say that wouldn’t make him look like and idiot, so he remained silent, staring at his food until it didn’t look like food any longer. “I think we can help each other. You’re clearly in need of a ‘friend’ right now. Let’s help each other out.”

The way he said that made Edward’s skin crawl. Clearly he would have to find somewhere else to lay low for a while—especially since he was sure the barista had called the cops. He snatched up his order and shoved his things into his bag, intent on leaving—until a thought suddenly crossed his mind.

“I haven’t seen you around school until today—how do you know so much about me?”

“Well, _Edward_ …” He took a sip of his coffee oh so casually, taking his sweet time to answer. “I might not be any good with a computer, but I have other ways of learning what I want to know. See you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Choking out those words without sputtering or showing his fear was hard enough—even harder was keeping himself from running for the door. What could he have possibly done to deserve this creepy stalker?

At the same time—was getting beaten half to death really any better? He would have to figure out what to do about both situations, and fast. Before the trust fund kid managed to find him again. And before Jonathan’s… _attentions_ got any more extreme.


	3. The Enemy of My Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the threat of having the shit beaten out of him looming over his head, Edward decides that Jonathan might not be the worst ally in the world to have-- he's certainly better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well at least instead of two years you only had to wait 7 months for an update this time
> 
> I do want to have a moment of honesty here; I don't try to write on any kind of a schedule and I don't write for anyone but myself. The actual likelihood of this fic being finished is almost zero, because I've yet to manage to finish a long plotty chapter fic I've started. But if you enjoy the ride along the way, I'm very happy about that, and hopefully I'll finish one of the seven monsters I have ongoing.

Maybe he just didn’t want to get beaten up. That was reasonable, wasn’t it?

Edward kept his sweater hood pulled up and his hands shoved in his pockets, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. Any one of his classmates could be ready to rat him out; if the rich kid could round up _goons_ , who knew what else he would end up doing? Although if he had found him at a random coffee shop during school hours, it was hard to imagine his _sweater_ being much use—

He took the back doors to his locker and tried not to think about it. He wasn’t surprised to see Jonathan standing there and waiting for him, leaning up against his own locker.

“Could you just fuck off? Please? I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now.” Try as he might, though, Edward couldn’t even summon the energy to sound completely venomous. He’d hardly slept the night before, partly from fear and partly because his father had come crashing into the house in a drunken stupor in the early morning hours. He didn’t even try to sneak out quietly the way he normally did; his father had still been passed out, drooling all over himself.

“I just thought you wouldn’t want to be caught alone if your new friend happened to be around,” Jonathan explained, carefully examining his fingernails.

“You think they’ll think twice about beating up _two_ scrawny nerds?” he asked, turning his head away from Jonathan and opening his locker. He wasn’t even sure why he’d shown up, other than not wanting to be at home when his father woke up.

“You would be surprised. Strength in numbers isn’t just a fancy saying, you know. It’s much easier for people to engage in violence when they greatly outnumber the subjects of that violence, regardless of the levels of power imbalance.” Jonathan shrugged as he waited for Edward to sort out his things. For once, he had every intention of going to class, although he didn’t intend to pay much attention. He just couldn’t think of somewhere safer to hide out. His unintentional enemy and his followers wouldn’t be able to corner him in the middle of his classroom, after all.

He ignored Jonathan as he gathered up his books and started in the direction of his first class. Jonathan didn’t ignore _him_ , though—he followed, hanging back just a bit, like he was his shadow.

“His name is Chad, by the way. Chad Talbot.”

_That_ drew Edward’s attention, enough for him to slow down and walk shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan.

“I could have figured that out myself,” he murmured to him, partially to keep his voice down and partially because he wasn’t happy with the comment.

“But you didn’t, did you?” The grin on Jonathan’s face was downright insufferable. “I suppose I can hardly blame you. I’d be a bit too shaken to focus after all of that, too.”

God, what a condescending _asshole_. Edward wanted to punch him right in his smug face, but since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place, he decided to hold off for now. Since his new companion seemed to be around every corner, there would surely be plenty of time for that later.

“His father is some mid-level executive at an insurance company, or something like that. No one important, but has money to throw around.” He hadn’t _asked_ for more information, but Jonathan just kept giving it. He knew he should appreciate it, but _appreciating_ anything Jonathan was offering still felt strange and wrong.

“So, what? He’s depending on daddy’s money to make assault charges go away?” Edward snorted, but he knew it was likely enough. Money made just about anything go away, if you knew how to apply it. And he didn’t have anything he could bargain with—the cops weren’t interested in his intelligence, idiots that they were.

“That seems to be the case.” Jonathan leaned in closer to him as he spoke, so their conversation could be held at a whisper. “I’m sure there’s some way of cutting him down to size, though.”

“You sound like a serial killer when you say that. And why do you even care? Your whole story about wanting me for my information is bullshit.” He didn’t have to be a genius to know that, although it certainly didn’t hurt. “And whatever it is you do want, I’m not interested.”

“You’re really determined to make everything difficult, aren’t you?” Jonathan sighed. “Listen. I’m going to help you not get beaten up, because it’s interesting to me, and watching you getting beaten to a pulp isn’t. Everything else can wait, agreed?”

He wanted to argue, but dammit, he wasn’t in a position to turn his nose up at help. He’d dealt with his fair share of bullies in the past, but none of them were the sort of people who could recruit _goons_ and deal with an assault charge without batting an eye. He’d never had anyone offer to help him with that sort of situation, either; his father would have sooner given him a smack upside the head and told him to deal with the problem like a real man, and there wasn’t exactly anyone else who would be _willing_ to help him.

Well—if Jonathan had _his_ ulterior motives, why couldn’t he? It wasn’t like Jonathan was cozying up to him, pretending to be his friend for no reason just to spring some kind of ‘big favor’ on him soon after; he was very forthright with the fact that he was using him for something, even if he was hiding what that ‘something’ was behind so many layers of secrecy. Couldn’t he just use Jonathan in the same way? Obviously, this newcomer wasn’t going to have his brain, but an extra pair of hands could always be useful, and Jonathan seemed… _insightful_ enough to at least know when to keep out of the way.

Maybe having him around wouldn’t be so bad, after all…

“Agreed,” he said finally, just as they came to the door for his first period class. “But just because you’re helping, doesn’t mean I’m going to go along with whatever it is you want, got it?”

“Of course.” But judging by the look on Jonathan’s face, he wasn’t truly convinced. “I’ll see you at lunch, then?”

“…yeah. See you at lunch.”

He watched Jonathan walk off from the doorway of his classroom, then slipped inside as soon as he was gone.

 

* * *

 

 Edward had forgotten how much school dragged on; it had been so long since he’d gone to all of his classes that it felt like it was taking an eternity. Although he’d been dreading lunch at the start of first period, he was grateful by the time it rolled around; even Jonathan was better than ‘learning’ at the same pace as his simpleminded classmates.

He realized, maybe a bit too late, that he and Jonathan hadn’t said where they would meet for lunch—but luckily when he stepped out of the classroom, Jonathan was standing across the hall waiting for him like some kind of deranged stalker.

“How did you know my class schedule? Wait, scratch that—I don’t want to know.” Already he was— _adjusting_ to this crazy situation. He didn’t want to know what that said about him. “Got a game plan, smart guy?”

“For the moment, we should focus on keeping our heads low,” he suggested. “Until we can figure out how to hit our new friend where it hurts.”

Edward considered the suggestion, then gestured for Jonathan to follow. “I know a place.”

He’d made it a priority to know the school like the back of his hand. The library was too risky, of course, but he had— _other_ places. Not as comfortable, maybe, but at the moment comfort was the least of his concerns.

He led Jonathan out the back door of the school. The shop class whined in the background, but there was no one else around. Edward led him through the scrubby back field of the school that probably hadn’t seen a lawnmower for as long as he’d been alive.

A line of scraggly half-dead trees broke up the old field. A rough dirt path led into the trees, made by travel rather than intent, but even the desperate druggies had found somewhere else to smoke and the horny couples had found somewhere else to make out. Even though Edward knew of the place, he wasn’t really a fan—it was dirty and overgrown, but he couldn’t think of a better place to hide from angry thugs on school grounds.

Jonathan didn’t complain as they picked through scraggly thorn bushes, to his credit. They came to an old shack, probably used to hold lawn keeping equipment or something similar, and a couple of half-rotted picnic benches.

Edward sat on one of those benches and tossed his backpack down at his feet, pulling his laptop out and setting it up in front of him.

“So. Step one.” He was already pulling up search engines and social media sites, everything he might need to do his particular brand of ‘research’. “What do we know about _Chad_?”

It was almost comforting that his tormentor had such a stupid name, but that was only enough to distract him from his work for a moment. He punched the name into every search engine and social media site he could think of.

“He’s an only child,” Jonathan offered, referring to a notebook he pulled out of his own bag. “And he lives with his father in a gated community.”

“His mother is listed on his profile as an emergency contact, but she has an out of state address. Divorced parents, probably.” He already had his school records pulled up and was flicking through most of it with casual disinterest. “But if his father’s got enough money to get him out of serious legal trouble, why is he going to a run down public school?”

“There’s only one private school in the area,” Jonathan offered, which Edward already _knew_ , thank you very much—but at least he was contributing, he supposed. “If he wanted to keep him in the area, this would be the only other choice.”

“Meaning there’s something about the other school…” His fingers flew across the keyboard, already looking up the school database. He didn’t have it opened wide like their own, so it took a few minutes for him to slip into their digital records—their system wasn’t completely made of tissue paper like _their_ school, but it wasn’t like it was difficult either.

“He wasn’t expelled.” Which was unfortunate, because that would have made everything that much easier. “Looks like his father pulled him out of school.”

“Why? There must have been some sort of inciting event. Is there a transfer date?”

Edward pulled up the school news, but found nothing of interest. The local papers were similarly empty. Which meant it was either something personal, or something the papers wouldn’t report on. Maybe it would be better to go to the source…

He didn’t really want to go through Chad Talbot’s social media, but he had a solution for that; a search algorithm, the simplest program he could imagine.

“Okay, what should I look for?” He raised an eyebrow at Jonathan, challenging him. He obviously had no experience with computers, but since he seemed to fancy himself some kind of _investigator_ , he was perfectly willing to step aside and let him fall flat on his face.

“His father is considered a ‘pillar of the community’,” he replied, looking through his little notebook which almost made Edward laugh. “There are plenty of news articles about donations to Christian charity organizations, and he made quite a show about ‘cleaning up our schools’ at a PTA meeting.”

“What, like graffiti?”

“Like guns, and drugs.” The smile on Jonathan’s face was _deeply_ unpleasant. It wasn’t a wide, devious grin—you had to be paying attention to realize he was smiling at all. Edward couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“I doubt there’s going to be any mention of that on his Facebook,” he said, happy enough to focus on the task at hand.

“Check around the time his father pulled him out of school. It _had_ to be something.”

Well, it was certainly a place to start. Edward punched the date _Chad_ was pulled out of school into the search algorithm, which started pulling up all the posts on all his social media pages that he’d made that day, or any that had him tagged or mentioned. The page exploded with results—not that odd, since most teenagers could make hundreds of social media posts a day. (Edward wasn’t a social media fan. He may have liked the attention, but he wanted it for his merits, not for pictures of cats and vague posts about personal drama.)

His eyes flicked over the posts as he scrolled through them, looking for any _interesting_ bits. Then something caught his eye.

“Got something. It might just be typical teenage angst, but there’s this: ‘I can’t believe this is happening. Dad’s such a tyrant’.”

“That’s good,” Jonathan said, waving his hand in Edward’s direction. “Go on.”

Well, no pressure. He looked through the other posts made at around the same time, then expanded the search to show a few days before and after.

“There’s a couple of guys here who showed up a _lot_ —pictures, comments, everything.” He punched those names into the search program. “Yeah, they don’t appear even _once_ after that post. Not on any of his public accounts.”

“Follow that. Let’s look into them.” Jonathan got up from his seat, coming around to his side of the table. Edward automatically moved over to make room for him, but made a face to show he wasn’t exactly happy about it.

Jonathan was crane over his laptop, watching him go back to the private school database and look for the two names that had popped up repeatedly in the comment sections and tags of _Chad’s_ social media.

“They were students at the same school—a year above Chad. Looks like they were expelled…” He made a humming noise as he moved through their records. Parts of them were sealed, but that was no trouble for him. “For possession of illegal drugs on school property.”

“So, the staunchly anti-drug businessman finds out his son is friends with a bunch of drug addicts and pulls him out of school.” The smile on Jonathan’s face was even worse than the last one. “I can work with that.”

Edward lifted his eyes from his computer screen and stared blankly at his—acquaintance? Accomplice seemed to be a better term, especially considering what they had been doing so far.

He wanted to ask what he was planning, but the words caught in his mouth when he saw the look in Jonathan’s eyes. Whatever it was—he didn’t want to know.

“I have some things to take care of,” Jonathan announced suddenly, getting up from the half-rotted picnic table. “Excuse me.”

Edward wanted to remind him that he’d been the one to suggest they stick together for safety, but as an extension of Not Wanting to Know, he let it slide.

“I’ll see you later?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear an answer, but Jonathan smiled at him—thankfully not the same horrifying smile he’d been wearing before.

“Mm.” And without saying anything else, he left, leaving Edward sitting there with what seemed to be a permanent chill running down his spine.

 

* * *

 

_“Good afternoon, students. Please listen for an important announcement.”_

Edward looked up from his laptop on which he was pretending to take notes. (With his library sanctum taken from him and stuck at school all day, he was glad he’d remembered to bring his laptop at all.)

_“Due to evidence of drug possession and drug sales on school grounds, police will be conducting a systematic drug search. We ask that all students and teachers remain in their classrooms for the duration of the search. We will announce when the search has been completed. Thank you for your cooperation.”_

The classroom immediately exploded into murmurs and whispering. The teacher made a few valiant attempts at getting the students’ attention back, she soon gave up. His classmates were spreading gossip like wildfire; even the girl sitting in front of him turned around to share her two cents, and Edward nodded and muttered something he had no memory of even a few seconds later.

He wasn’t sure how to feel—nervous and a little frightened that Jonathan had managed something like this in the hour and a half since he’d last seen him, or _viciously elated_ at what he imagined the look on Chad’s face would be like.

One of the other teachers had come to the door to ask what was going on. With both his classmates and teacher distracted by what was going on, Edward hastily shoved his laptop into his bag and slipped out the back door of the classroom as quietly as possible. He was so rarely in class to begin with—he surely wouldn’t be missed.

He really wasn’t surprised to see Jonathan waiting for him; he would have been more surprised if he _didn’t_ see him.

“Want to take a walk?”

Edward shrugged, slipping on his backpack at the same time, trying to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t both impressed and scared that Jonathan had managed to pull something like this off.

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Edward wasn’t sure how, but he ended up sitting across the street from the school on a city bench. Jonathan came up carrying an egg-carton tray with two coffees and the other two holders filled with little cream cups and sugar packets.

“I didn’t know how you take yours,” Jonathan explained as he handed him the coffee from the shitty coffee shop in the gas station. Edward immediately dumped as many sugars and creams into the coffee as he could hold at one time.

“Why are we sitting out here? Isn’t it gonna take them a while to get to _Chad’s_ locker?” He popped the top back onto his coffee and took a sip. It was overwhelmingly sweet, but since he could taste the burnt coffee underneath, that was obviously the lesser of two evils.

“The whole ‘search’ is just a pretense. They know exactly where to look.” Jonathan leaned back, putting his arm across the back of the city bench. “But since they can’t search just one student’s locker without a warrant, they have to put on a whole show.”

There were two police cars and a police van sitting in the parking lot, but there wasn’t much else to watch except for the cars passing by. Edward sipped at his coffee and, after a few minutes, started checking his phone.

He was just about to ask how long he expected him to sit there and wait when an expensive-looking town car pulled into the school parking lot. The man who climbed out of the car was the most stereotypical well-dressed blond businessman Edward had ever seen, and he slammed the car door hard enough that he was surprised it didn’t shatter the window.

“The eagle has landed,” Jonathan said, leaning in to practically _whisper_ it right in Edward’s ear—he jumped and nearly spilled his coffee in his lap because he was close enough that Edward could _feel his breath on the shell of his ear_. He reached over and gave Jonathan a solid shove as he felt his entire face turn a bright shade of red; Jonathan chuckled.

After a few minutes, the man stormed back out of the school; he was physically _dragging_ Chad by the arm towards his car. Chad was falling all over himself, tripping over his words as he tried to stammer out his excuses.

(Edward couldn’t help but think he could just make it easier on himself if he just stopped trying to struggle…)

Chad’s father had to stop to open the door of his car, which he was struggling with thanks to anger and only having one hand free. As he did, Chad looked around as though searching for a way out. His eyes landed on the two of them across the street.

Edward grinned at him and held up his coffee as if he was proposing a toast. It was hard to see _Chad’s_ expression from this distance, but the rage was almost palpable as his father stuffed him in the backseat of his car, keeping a hand on his head like he was a police officer.

“I doubt Chad and his goons will be bothering you again after this,” Jonathan said, tapping his coffee cup against Edward’s in a triumphant toast.

“Here here,” Edward said, caught up in the moment and unable to resist. The two of them both sipped their gross coffee almost in sync as they watched the town car pull out of the school and practically speed away.

“You know, with all the commotion, I doubt anyone will notice either of us is missing,” Jonathan said. Edward _knew_ no one would notice he was missing—he didn’t go to class often enough for them to miss him. “Want to grab a celebratory lunch somewhere that serves real food—and coffee that hasn’t been burning at the bottom of the pot all morning? It’s on me.”

Edward considered the offer for a moment. He’d been trying to get _away_ from Jonathan since he’d met him, but it was hard to turn down a free lunch, and he _was_ starting to feel an emotional high from what they’d just done… and besides, he still had questions that demanded answers.

“Only if you tell me exactly how you pulled this off,” he replied. Jonathan smiled.

“I think we can manage that.”


End file.
